Missing Piece
by Cynthia Arrow
Summary: Shannon runs into a person she wouldn't have expected while she's grieving for Boone.


Disclaimer: I know I'm not J.J. Abrams, but if you try to sue me, I'll swear I am.

Rating: T

Notes: Beware reading this if you don't like angst. I usually don't either, so I sympathize and fully expect my hits to be low for this story. But every "Lost" writer has to mourn the loss of Ian Somerhalder's blue eyes sometime, so here is my contribution to Boone Carlisle's protracted internet funeral.

Many thanks to zeldabel and whoknowswhy for the beta. Even people with degrees in English write asinine things sometimes or have trouble with titles.

Missing Piece

Shannon was throwing another pity party. This one was subdued compared to previous ones. She might not have seemed all that distraught to anyone except maybe Sayid, who was giving her a wide berth. He had seen the hollow look in her eyes that morning, and he made himself scarce without even asking her anything. If she hadn't been so unhappy, she might have realized she could absolutely love him for being the patient, perceptive man he was. Today, though, she could only be thankful.

Since Boone's death, she had been alternately angry and screaming or sad and crying. Feeling was horrible, but it was active. It was good to let the adrenaline pump as she spent hours walking and cursing everything that might have led up to the moment her brother had been killed. It was real to cry so hard her face was red and swollen because she knew she had been the reason he'd been in Australia and she was also why he had been so scarred and eager for praise and acceptance that he followed Locke into the jungle. Most of all she wept over not being there when he died, as if all the hurt she'd inflicted on him by not loving him was summed up in a carefree romantic evening spent under the same stars he was slowly and painfully dying under.

She was surprised at how clearly she saw herself now that Boone was dead. It had taken a while to get past those loud, strong, physical attacks of anger and sadness, but once she reached the numb clarity of hindsight, she felt like she had a mirror held up before her. Boone had always been her mirror, really, and she figured that's why she treated him so badly. He was all the things she hated about herself—self-conscious, cocky, needy. He was also some things she felt she might never be. Boone could be vulnerable with people. When he wasn't using that to get a girl into bed, he could be so real and so open about things in a way that none of her rich, obnoxious friends and lovers were. Maybe it was because she was his family. She told herself that was why he had loved her, not for herself but for the ties that bound them. She had seen him do too many stupid things for him to be uncomfortable with telling her everything. The hard part was that he craved the same from her, and she was unable to give it. Why? she asked herself.

She knew she had always been afraid of him, afraid of having someone love her. She just didn't know why. Sayid scared the hell out of her. He was intolerant of her attitudes but enamored with her personality, even though it annoyed him. He was typically male enough to look at her like he wanted to devour her but self-possessed enough to be satisfied with holding her hand or curling his body around hers as she slept. He was in no real way vulnerable with her—not like Boone, not telling her everything in his heart and head—but the very fact of Sayid's persistence showed a weakness he was willing to let her see, the weakness that he was indeed falling in love with her and likely against his will.

The second man in love with her was as improbable to her as the first. Boone should never have loved her, because he was her stepbrother and because he knew her all too well. At least Sayid was aware of how odd it was that he should find himself drawn to her. Not only was he fifteen years her senior; he was also not the kind of man who fell in love unless he fell so hard he might never recover. He certainly wasn't the kind to choose a rich American bitch who had been known, before the island, to assume anyone with light brown skin was a terrorist.

It wasn't that Shannon felt she was unlovable. She had her high points, and there were even some that didn't have to do with her looks. She was funny, with a droll humor that could be adapted to all tastes, from dumb jocks to sophisticated older men. Shannon also had a remarkable read on people. It was what it took to be manipulative, and Boone had shared that talent. Reading people could be a good trait, too. She could tell what people were thinking and feeling even if they never spoke a word to her. She could anticipate their needs, or draw them out of themselves when they needed to stop dwelling on something. She could see who needed to have a self-esteem boost and she knew exactly how to give it to them. Cruelly, she had read Boone's devotion like a book of sonnets and closed herself off to him, only doling out enough to keep him enticed.

But on this day, she could do little but dwell on how those traits couldn't help her now. She only understood them because he was gone. His last words were "Tell Shannon." It didn't matter what he meant to tell her, because his death spoke everything he'd ever wanted to say: selfish, difficult, hard to love, clingy, calculating, callous. On bad days, she felt judged by that. On good days she heard those words spoken with sadness but hope. Today she did not feel them at all. She was empty of anything, and it was a palpable emptiness that ached. How a lack could ache like that, she didn't know.

She really hadn't known how important Boone was to her. It was like a bad country song about not missing your long-suffering wife until she leaves you and takes the kids and you can't even cook yourself dinner because she was your world. Except Boone wasn't Shannon's world, only the small piece that nonetheless held it together. Boone had to exist, even halfway around the world and not talking to her, for Shannon's life to move forward. Without him she floundered, and she was sorry to realize half of the helplessness was knowing her greatest admirer was gone. The other half was missing him for who he was, in those rare times that he would be the person she wanted him to be—a man who didn't have this ridiculous lust for her but only wanted to share the afternoon sun and the breeze on the balcony at the Golden Tree Resort, pouring her drinks and laughing at her brutal commentary on the people passing below.

In that hollow state, she moved toward his grave. She didn't go there often, because it was silly. She didn't like to think about people's bodies after they were gone; their bodies were no longer them, only obscene shells that belonged to the ground. She wished they could have cremated him, but it wasn't what Jack wanted. He needed a burial, and since he was just as stricken with Boone's death, she didn't fight him. Occasionally, like today, she was glad they'd buried him. Graveyards were peaceful places to her, because there were definitely not ghosts there, only stone and grass and sky and people remembering other people. She wasn't going to talk to him, as if a graveyard were a visitor's room in prison, people communicating through a phone, a wall of smudged Plexiglas between them. It was a quiet place to remember that she craved, hoping to recall anything as long as it made her feel.

Both times she'd gone up there before, she had found someone already there. It was Charlie the first time. He was doing something like a chant that she vaguely recognized as Catholic. That was a sad day, and the chanting somehow made her feel better, and she asked him to stay and continue. He talked to Mary about Jesus and God and she didn't mind. Sometimes she felt like she needed God the way other people did, but no more so than on that warm, sunny day when she listened to the remainder of a rosary, prayed without beads, the repetitions counted out with pebbles. That was a day of regret, including remorse for the way she'd treated Charlie in the past. He was a good man.

The second man she found there was also a good man, but it was difficult to see that at times. She had been only mildly angry that day, but when she found Jack there talking to Boone, the anger just seemed to grow. She tried to explain it all to him, how Boone was not there, how he was gone, how maybe it was partly Jack's fault, at least the part where Boone was dying and that son of a bitch didn't think to send anyone looking for her. She asked him if Boone was in pain, and Jack didn't answer her. He might have been crying when she stalked off, but she didn't care enough to be sorry or even turn to look.

On this day, when she entered the space that was holy to her because it was a symbol of life, Kate was sitting there silently, looking out over the water and running her hand over the sand that covered the grave.

Kate said, "Did you know I was the one who told him he could trust Locke." It was more of a statement than a question.

"No."

"He asked my opinion a lot. For some reason, he thought I was trustworthy."

"You're not?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

Shannon saw that Kate didn't seem to want to leave, so Shannon weighed a response, hoping to find an appropriate, effective level of annoyance. Maybe then Kate would retreat. "I think you're not who you say you are and you're a criminal."

Strangely, Kate smiled. "Fair enough."

"Did Boone know that?"

"No. Maybe. He wouldn't have cared."

"He was stupid sometimes."

"Yes," she said, and her sarcastic expression was at least partly directed at Shannon.

Shannon said, "How come he never told me he talked to you?"

"It was just a thing. I take a walk almost every morning, and he knew that. Sometimes, when he was up early enough, he'd join me. Then he'd start talking. When we got back to civilization, he'd stop."

"Why did he walk with you?"

"You know Boone. He's a little chauvinistic. Was."

She snorted. "He was protecting you?"

"Yeah. Of course, it wasn't just that. He wanted to talk to me."

"Why?"

"I wouldn't judge him. Not even for being in love with his stepsister."

Shannon closed her eyes and felt a small surge of anger rush through her, only to be replaced with the monotonous numbness.

Kate continued, "You knew that, I'm sure."

She couldn't squeak out a reply.

"Did you love him?"

Shannon knew it wasn't a question she wanted to answer, let alone from Kate, but Kate was someone with insights on Boone. Shannon couldn't afford to get angry and defensive. She answered, "Not that way. But he knew that."

She nodded. "It made him miserable."

"Why are you telling me this? Don't you think I feel crappy enough without your help."

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad. He was miserable because he thought you didn't really see him for who he was. He said when the two of you had sex, he wasn't even Boone then, just another guy who wanted you."

The anger rushed back then, causing her to tremble and rendering her speechless for a moment. She steadied herself as she waited for the numbness to return. "Just because he told you that, it doesn't mean you have a right to bring it up."

"Maybe not."

"And he _was_ Boone when we had sex. He was always Boone to me. He was never, ever just another guy. That's why I never wanted to do that again. Boone to me was not supposed to be a lover. Boone was my brother and that's all. I hated that he had those feelings because it meant I could never really have my brother, only another guy who wanted me. You think I was horrible to him? I was. And I hated it."

"No, you didn't. You wanted him to hate you."

"No." It was like someone had punched her in the stomach almost as hard as when Jack told her he was gone. She got quiet, sitting down across from Kate. "God, if he didn't, he should have."

"You know, he didn't want to love you like he did. He knew it wasn't healthy. But he told me he couldn't help it. Being with you could make him so happy."

She shook her head, raising her voice at the reply: "I wasn't even in the same country as him most of the time."

"You have been for the last few weeks."

"I treated him like crap."

"He thought he deserved it."

She didn't mean to cry, but tears streamed down her cheeks anyway.

Kate said, "Shannon, I'm not trying to make you sad. You did make him happy."

"How in the hell could I make him happy? I'm so screwed up."

"He thought he could fix you. He thought you were capable of a lot of good things. Like when you helped with translating the French woman's papers."

Shannon scowled. "He made fun of me."

"Would you have accepted a compliment from him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I never believed his compliments."

"Why?"

"Because he was crazy. He didn't see me clearly."

"Did you ever think he saw you more clearly than anyone else?"

"No."

"He did. He knew you'd go after Sayid before you did."

"He hated Sayid."

"No. He was jealous. He knew that you would let Sayid in. It made him feel like he wasn't good enough."

"Dammit," she said, rising. "Dammit, Boone couldn't have been that stupid. He was one of the best people I ever met. He had to have known that. If he didn't…" She felt a sob rack her chest, and she stood and stumbled away from Kate.

Kate rose, finally, and caught her by the arm. "Shannon, he knew you well enough to hear the things you didn't say. Even if you weren't aware of it, he knew he was important to you. That's what made him happy."

"Jesus. Why couldn't he be happy being himself?"

"Why can't you?"

"Come on…"

"I'm serious. One morning, right after Sayid started hovering around you, Boone told me you needed to start to figure yourself out if you had any chance of getting Sayid and keeping him. He thought maybe he should start by letting you go and moving on with his own life. I have no idea what happened to him, but he was different then."

"I remember." He had become strong and not so easily hurt as he had been. He also became cryptic and mysterious like Locke.

"That morning, he thanked me for listening to him, and he told me he wouldn't complain to me any more. Then he told me that part of why he'd felt so at ease with me is that I remind him of you."

Shannon reacted with a cough.

Kate laughed and said, "I know. I felt the same way. He pointed out the differences, but then he said I shared at least one thing with you: I'm tough and too guarded. He said it was a shame I wouldn't let anyone in. Then he winked at me, kissed me on the cheek, and left me. That was six days before he died, and I never spoke another word to him other than 'hello' or 'boy, it's hot out here.' But he always winked at me, even if he was following Locke out to hunt boar."

"He liked you."

Kate gave a slight smile and halfway rolled her eyes. "Something like that."

"He was trying to be charming. He gets…he got a little cocky when he was trying to impress someone."

Kate laughed. "Ask Claire about that sometime. She swears he thoroughly enjoyed parading in front of her half-naked when he went for a swim. Your brother wasn't always obsessed with you. He had a life outside of you. Don't forget that. Just because you feel bad about the way you treated him doesn't mean you ruined his life."

"I tried."

"Who says he didn't try to hurt you? Boone wasn't a saint. We want to remember people as perfect when they're gone, but Boone wasn't perfect. He was as screwed up as the rest of us."

"I still don't know how he could have told you so much without me knowing it."

"Like I said, he had a life outside of you. We talked about a lot of things. He was also a good listener. He never for a moment judged me, and I don't think he judged you like you assume he did. You know what his three favorite things about you were?"

She was incredulous. "He gave you a list?"

"I asked him once why he put up with you if you were so nasty to him. He said you made the best annoyed faces of anyone on the planet, which was why he loved to annoy you. He said he was one of the few people who could say how beautiful you were without makeup. And he said you were so easy to make happy, if a person just knew how, and he swore he did."

She felt tears sting her eyes again as the hollow ache returned, coupling with a stabbing sadness. She instantly knew how Boone had been comfortable with Kate, because the other woman just smiled at her and walked away, leaving her to herself. It was the same sort of intuitive response Sayid had to her moods.

She moved back to the graveside and sat down. Had Boone forgiven her for being with Sayid? She decided he must have, or it didn't matter. It was Boone's fault, really. How else could she recognize Sayid's feelings for what they were? Without having seen someone fall head over heels for her, she wouldn't have believed it possible. And without having Boone around to show her how effortlessly the right person could make her smile, she might never have let herself smile for Sayid.

Sayid did understand her, and he did make her happy even when she didn't want to be. She lay back on the ground, feeling the tears stream over her face. The sun was bright, but she let it sting her eyes as she lay there thinking that she should probably find a way to keep from pushing Sayid away. He wasn't her brother. She didn't have a convenient way to keep those feelings out of her heart. She thought maybe she shouldn't try. Instead, maybe she should get up and go to him now and tell him that she never wanted him to leave her. She snorted at her thoughts. That would freak Sayid out. And her. So she made less desperate-sounding plans and dried her eyes. However, she didn't get up. She was too tired, in so many different ways, and for now she just wanted to be where she was and remember Boone.

Cocky little bastard, she thought. I miss you.

-end-


End file.
